


odds and ends

by demotu



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Snippets, prompt fills, timestamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4358144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demotu/pseuds/demotu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of tumblr prompt fills: snippets, headcanons, timestamps, etc that are otherwise too small or unfinished or informal to post alone. Pat/Jonny unless otherwise specified in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snippet: On Pat taking four showers a day

**Author's Note:**

> The transient medium of tumblr has made me decide to archive these bits and pieces here; I wouldn't want them to get lost entirely if I ever choose to stop using tumblr! These are very rough snippets and headcanons that are not going to be fleshed out further, so please don't look here for completion or edited perfection.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _goulbournes asked: '#i mean there are other reason#that a guy might take four showers a day#maybe seeing you work out in your underwear#is too much for him jonny' Oh my god that is 100% exactly where my mind went as soon as I got to the like 3rd gif... OH MY GOD this is such great fic fodder (and amazing for a laugh... although it makes me wonder about the atrocious state of Kaner's hair so much more... has he not discovered shampoo???)_

“What the fuck, Jonny,” Pat whines on the next road trip. “My sisters said gross things because of that interview, I hate you.”

“Don’t take so many showers then, you obsessive freak,” Jonny says, throwing a pillow at him from his bed. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was saying, or how it would sound, but really, the number of showers Pat takes is stupid.  

“I’m not obsessive!” Pat objects. “I just. Like showers.”

“Like jerking off, you mean,” Jonny says, rolling his eyes. “C’mon man, I’ve got a dick, but I can keep it to once a fucking day.”

Pat blushes, hard, which Jonny takes to mean he’s 100% correct about the reason for all of Pat’s showers. Which is kind of stupid, if Jonny thinks about it. He’s not shy, he’s pretty sure  _Pat_  isn’t shy, and they’re buddies. It’s not like he didn’t do this with TJ, but maybe Pat’s never had a roommate who just didn’t care before.

“Look, man, you’re gonna like, dry out your skin with all of those showers. If you wanna get off, just do it, I don’t care.”

When Pat doesn’t say anything, Jonny looks up from his screen and over to Pat, who’s gaping at him, wide mouthed. 

“What?”

Pat moves his mouth without making any noise for a moment. Jonny thinks he’s saying “freak job” but he’s not completely sure. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?”

Jonny shrugs. “Whatever, I jerk off every night after lights out, it’s not like you care.”

“You -  _what?”_ Pat says, voice cracking. 

Jonny furrows his brow, frowning. “You didn’t notice?”

"I - no, what. I  _sleep_  when it’s lights out,” Pat splutters out. 

"Oh,” Jonny says. It’s true Pat falls asleep super easily. Jonny takes ages to relax enough to fall asleep, it’s why it’s so hard to get up in the morning. “Well, I guess that’s good.” He tries not to sound disappointed, because obviously it’s better if Pat wasn’t actually listening. That would be kind of a gay thing to be into. “Well, whatever man. You can if you want, I don’t care.”

“Right,” Pat says faintly. “I think, uh, I’ll pass. But thanks?” And then gets up, goes into the washroom, and - yep, turns on the shower.

Jonny stares at the door in confusion, and then shrugs. Maybe Pat just likes it in the shower best. 


	2. Not!Fic: Saader/Leddy/Jonny crack threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: oh my god please write more saader/leddy fic but FULL FIC please_
> 
>  
> 
> Anon I absolutely guarantee this is not what you or anybody else was looking for, but here is a not-ficced version of the resulting chat with notaflower (who does not deserve it she knows what she did) and thecoggs. (Also if you missed it it’s because of the tagfic I put on this post.)

But like Leddy as the gentle top who has to be drunkenly persuaded by Saader to fuck Jonny. Jonny sits on the couch also drunk and watches this bemusedly, and at some point in their furtive discussion Leddy and Saader just start making out.

Jonny: So should I like…go?

Leddy & Saader: Shut up we’re having a moment

Jonny: Jeez fine, I’ll go prep myself. Come find me when your moment is done.

Leddy and Saader share a look and Leddy is like FINE and decides to go shut up Jonny properly. No bottom of his is going to have to prep himself, okay. Leddy is a gentleman.

But he does get like, one finger in and then makes Jonny flip over.

Jonny: Seriously?

Saader: Don’t ask.

Leddy: Look if you’d just shut your eyes it would have been fine.

Jonny: My mom says my eyes are my best feature.

Leddy: Did you actually think that would make them sexier to stare at?

Jonny: uh

Okay so Jonny is a little offended but is like fuck, fine, and gets on his knees.

Jonny: This better be worth it or you’re both fired.

Saader: I don’t think you can—

Jonny: Fired, saader.

Saader: Well okay but it’s going to be worth it, I promise.

So Leddy starts opening Jonny up and that’s all fine and good, he knows what he’s doing okay, but it’s not fantastic until Leddy gets his dick in him, because it turns out that Leddy’s dick is god’s gift to prostates everywhere.

Jonny: Wha—holy fu—how is that—

Saader: Yeah, its got the perfect curvature and length for optimal—

Jonny: Please shut up.

Saader: Okay shutting up now.

Jonny the power bottom probably prides himself on his stamina but he is just not going to last, so when he gets close he pushes Leddy off and turns to Saader.

Jonny: Let’s see your dick.

Saader: Pardon?

Jonny: How are you even still wearing pants.

Saader, while taking off said pants: Well Nick was the one who was going to fuck you, I’m just watching.

Jonny: Well, rookie, now you’re doing. Do I need to hide my face or what?

Saader: No uh, your face is fine.

Jonny: Good, your dick will do, get to it.

So that works out because Jonny can hold off for a lot longer on Saader’s dick, even though Leddy blows him—

(Jonny: This is just so you don’t have to look at my eyes, right?

Leddy: No! I just…wanted to.)

—until Saader gets off, because he’s been watching his boyfriend plow Jonathan Toews and he’s got fantasies and is like, just a man, okay. Then Jonny turns over and puts his hands on the headboard again and tells Leddy to finish him off. Which happens really fucking quickly on Leddy’s very perfectly shaped dick, so after Jonny’s collapsed in a satisfied heap on the bed Leddy’s hovering over him awkwardly, still inside.

Leddy: Can I keep going?

Jonny (mumbling): I dunno, me and my shark eyes over here are pretty offended

Leddy: Its not that they’re shark eyes, its just that they’re like. Really big. And dark. And you do this thing with them that makes me feel like I took a penalty in the offensive zone on a power play.

Jonny: I take back everything I ever said about you being a gentleman.

Leddy: Um so can I—

Jonny: If you don’t finish soon I’m turning over.

Leddy: Okay right got it.

It probably takes Leddy a while to come cause he’s feeling kind of shy about it. Saader probably has to talk him through it.

Saader: You look so good like that honey.

Jonny: Saader is that your idea of dirty talk.

Saader: uh

Jonny: Jesus Christ rookies.

Saader (whispering): Not a rookie.

Jonny’s like you can’t just tell him he looks good, who gives a shit what he looks like.

Leddy: Wow thanks.

Jonny: Shh, you’ve gotta tell him that he’s *doing good*.

Jonny: Okay hold up I need to not be eating pillows for this.

Leddy to Saader: What have you done.

Jonny: Listen, if either of you tell anyone I do reverse cowgirl I will fire you.

Saader: I really don’t think you can—

Leddy (wide eyed, being manhandled flat to the bed and then sat on by Jonny): Oh my god shut up Brandon.

Jonny starts riding Leddy, getting this wicked roll of his hips going because c’mon he’s going to give at good show, and Leddy’s dick is really stupid good, he’s probably gonna be able to get it up again if Saader doesn’t ruin it with his idea of dirty talk. But he’s on a mission here so he risks it.

Jonny: Okay Saader let’s try that again. More positive reinforcement this time.

Saader: Sure, okay.

Jonny: …

Saader: Okay see, you’re doing all the work, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to reinforce here.

Jonny: Shame, you’ll just have to talk to me, instead.

Saader: Uh.

Jonny stops moving to glare at Saader.

Leddy: Oh fuck Brandon just say something.

Saader: Okay okay. You’re uh—you’re like a lion? A tiger. Yeah, like a tiger.

Jonny: What.

Saader: All like, coiled strength and stuff? Your thighs are like, really powerful when you uh, are riding Nick like that.

Jonny: Holy shit stop talking I’m trying to get my boner back.

Leddy (panting): Slut.

Jonny & Saader: Huh?

Leddy: You’re a huge fucking cockslut, Jon. You’ve already come and you’re still riding my dick like you can’t get enough.

Saader: Woah.

Jonny (getting a hand on his dick): Okay not bad, keep going.

Leddy: God, that’s the best thing about playing with you—you see what you want and you take it. The puck, an overtime goal, my dick up your ridiculously hot ass. It’s like my dick is the Cup and you’ve decided to take it home.

Leddy gets his feet under him so he can start fucking up against Jonny, who’s leaning forward and riding him hard now, one hand planted on the mattress between Leddy’s legs and the other stroking his own cock. Jonny starts whimpering around the same time that Leddy starts talking about his hat-trick against Ottawa earlier in the season.

Saader: Well if I’d known we could use hockey metaphors.

Jonny: Nope, you’re cut off—shit, Nicky, just like that, right there, fuck, your cock is—hn.

Leddy: Oh god.

And poor Leddy is kind of orgasm-stuck right now, sitting on the edge of coming for so long he’s not sure he can anymore, and he has to watch Jonny come on his dick a second time, this time with a perfect view of him fucking himself down on it, thighs shaking, back arching, listening to Jonny swear and call him Nicky and then curve forward, panting.

Leddy (whining): Oh god, I need—

Jonny has just had his second spectacular orgasm courtesy of Leddy’s really stupidly good cock, but charitable is still probably not the word one uses to describe Jonathan Toews in any situation, so of course he climbs off and plants himself down next to Leddy so he can strip off the condom and start stripping his dick while staring directly down in his face. Leddy curls in on himself and Saader drops to his other side and curls a hand under his neck and slings his legs over Leddy’s thighs to hold him down.

Saader: C’mon love, you deserve it, come for us.

Jonny: Yeah Nicky, you’ve got this. Double OT, game seven breakaway, got the puck on your stick, bring it home.

Leddy: Oh, fuck, I—

And it’s like one of those orgasms you kind of tear out of yourself through sheer determination to come already, but it lasts for-fucking-ever. Leddy’s all twitchy and shaking underneath them and when Jonny looks over at Saader, Saader’s just watching him with this overwhelmingly fond look whispering ‘yeah babe, so good, love you’. Which like, not Jonny’s thing, but it’s kind of cute to see. Leddy comes down and tucks his face in Saader’s shoulder, still shivering through tiny aftershocks as Jonny rubs the come off his hand into Leddy’s stomach.

Jonny: What did it?

Leddy: Hmm?

Jonny: You were kind of stuck, then you came. Saader’s sappy declaration of love?

Saader: Hey!

Leddy: Nah, that’s nothing new.

Saader: *not sure if he’s being insulted, holds his tongue*

Jonny: The hockey metaphor?

Leddy: *snorts* No, honestly—

Jonny: *eyebrow raise*

Leddy: Well you had this look in your eyes, like if I didn’t come right then it’d be the end of the world.

Jonny: …

Leddy: Look they’re just like weapons, okay.

Jonny: …

Saader: After all that?

Leddy: Oh fuck off.

And Jonny probably goes and crashes in the guest room and in the morning helps Leddy tie Saader down while Leddy fucks him and Jonny sucks him off in tiny intervals as reward for even tinier improvement in his ability to talk dirty.

Saader: Fuck, your mouth is like a—

Jonny: If the next word there is anything from Animal Planet—

Leddy: Actually usually he goes for vacuum.

Jonny: *stares at Leddy*

Leddy: He actually said hoover once.

Jonny: *glares at Saader*

Saader: That only works on Nick.

Jonny: I give up.


	3. Timestamp: lean a little to the left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is about a thousand words that might have gone into a sequel to [lean a little to the left](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1170537). I think I’ve posted the first bit, which comes during a conversation about their upcoming contract negotiations, before. 

“I’m not asking, I wouldn’t ask you to stay for me,” Jon says, and Pat knows he’s serious.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Pat says. “But Chicago wants me, will pay for me, and where would be better? I’ll take these guys, I’ll take  _winning_ , over a permanent centre on the top line.”

“Even if Buffalo got a real rebuild going?” Jon teases.

“We’ll see in five years,” Pat says skeptically. “They’ve got a ways to go.”

“In five years,” Jon says, matter of fact, “I’ll probably ask you to stay for me.”

There’s a pause, a moment where Pat can tell Jon’s holding his breath, worried he’s said to much. But Jon’s already showed his hand, and it doesn’t surprise Pat to think that would be how Jon sees it. He’s all in in all things; if he  _wasn’t_ , about Pat, Pat wouldn’t believe this would work for a second.

“In five years, you won’t have to.”

~

“Apparently the internet thinks Jonny is a huge Canadian asshole,” Erica says, dry and smirking.

“What?” Pat asks. “Why?”

“Because he made you cry in your post-game interview or something,” Erica says, waving a hand. “I dunno, I didn’t see it. I mean, I saw the video, not the other stuff. Jackie has a tumblr, she told me about it.”

“What,” Pat says flatly. “He did not.”

“He like, patted your shoulder and you rolled your eyes or something,” Erica says. “You totally looked like you were about to cry. Jackie said he should have left you alone in your misery. Let’s face it though, your face just does weird shit when you’re upset.”

“Fuck you,” Pat says, not meaning it in the slightest. “Jesus, I wasn’t like - that’s just Jonny, you know? He can’t turn off the captain, even when he isn’t.”

Erica laughs, hopefully at Jonny. “Yeah, Patty, I know. He’s possessive of you losers. I bet he wanted to take you home and feed you consolation tomato soup or something.”

“Ugh,” Pat says, rolling his eyes - but. He eyes Erica, grainy on his laptop screen. “Erica,” he starts, and then immediately chickens out, shutting his mouth with a click.

“Yeah?” she says, leaning into the screen. “Are you - is something wrong?”

Pat chews on his lips, thinking it over. He’d really like to tell  _somebody_ , is the thing. Jonny’s still in Sochi, and so is Sharpy, who’s pretty much the only other person who he could say anything to without having to go through the whole stupid story.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. It’s just - if I told you something kind of big, would you be okay with not telling anybody else? Not mom or dad or the girls, not  _anybody_.”

“Did you kill somebody?”

Pat rolls his eyes and says, “I’m serious.”

“It’s not a bad thing?” she asks, scrunching up her nose. “I mean, I totally want to know, but if it’s something mom and dad  _should_  know, I’m not sure I should lie about it for you.”

“No, it’s not bad. Just something I’m not ready to share with everyone, yet. Eventually, I’ll tell them, you won’t have to keep a secret forever, but it might be like, a few months.”

Erica folds her lips together, and then nods once, intent. “I promise, not a word.”

“Okay.” Pat takes a breath, folds his hands together in his lap, and then looks back up. “Jonny and I are dating.” His voice fucking wavers on it, of course it does, because he’s nervous as shit even though this is Erica, who’s always been on his side.

“Oh!” Erica says, rocking back from her computer. “Wow. I mean - wow.”

“Is it okay?” Pat asks, anxious. “I mean, you won’t say -”

“No of course not,” she interrupts, waving her hands dismissively. “I won’t say anything. Congratulations? I mean, congratulations, for real,” she amends firmly, eyes flicking up to her webcam so it feels like she’s looking straight at him, instead of his chin or whatever.

“Thanks?” Pat says shakily. “It’s new. I mean, like, we’ve been on half a date, just before I came back to Buffalo. And then there was Sochi, so. But it’s for real, I think.”

“Oh,” Erica says smiling. “I’m glad you’re telling me this soon then.”

Pat shrugs. “You don’t seem that surprised?” he asks after a moment. “I mean, he’s a dude.”

“I noticed,” she says, dry. “No, I mean, I’m a little surprised, but Jess and I did  _wonder_ , once upon a time, so it’s not like I’ve never considered it.”

“You wondered if - me and Jonny were together?”

“No, no, a long time ago, when Jess’s best friend’s older brother came out? I guess we got talking about you. You were like, 19 and hadn’t ever had a girlfriend or anything -”

“- I was kind of  _busy_ , being drafted first and all.” Pat interrupts snippily

“Sure, but we decided it wasn’t impossible. But then you did date girls, so it’s not like we believed it or anything, it was just something we wondered about.”

“I do like girls,” Pat offers, picking at a loose thread on the edge of his bedspread. “I’m bi, not gay.”

“That’s cool,” Erica says, reaching out and poking her laptop. “Seriously, Patty, I don’t care. I mean, Jonny’s kind of a psychopath, so maybe I question your choices on that count, but it’s really fine.”

“You have no idea,” Pat says, thinking of Lindsey and the apparent years of not saying anything to Pat and rolling his eyes. “But I think it could be good. Between us. So we’re gonna try.”

~ 


	4. Snippet: truth or dare?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _monalisasnmadhatters asked: "Truth or Dare?" Johnny asks. Patrick wonders when they stepped foot in high school again._

"Truth or Dare?" Johnny asks.

Patrick wonders when they stepped foot in high school again.

“You got out of high school five minutes ago,” Jonny informs him when he says this out loud, throwing the tennis ball up in the air and catching it on repeat. “Did you even actually graduate?”

“Fuck you, I gotta shiny Ontario diploma and everything. It’s even _Canadian,”_ Patrick says. “Unlike your fancy private school degree, bought and paid for.”

"Hey,” Jonny says, catching the tennis ball one last time and sitting up. “They made us work at Shattuck, it was no joke.”

He looks so genuinely offended Patrick feels badly for three seconds before remembering that Jonny made him turn the TV off at  _nine-thirty_  last night, the loser. He jumps on his bed and grabs the tennis ball back, dodging Jonny’s attempted check and leaping back to his own bed, victorious. “Truth,” he says, smirking at Jonny, who looks like he’s trying to decide between finding the energy to get out of bed and tackling Patrick in revenge.

“You’re such a dumb kid,” Jonny grumbles, all old-man like he gets when he’s underslept. Patrick grins widely until Jonny glares at him and says, “So have you even done it?”

The tennis ball goes flying at a strange angle. “Done what?” Patrick says.

“Had sex,” Jonny says. “Since you’re all  _graduated_  and grown up and shit. Or was it hard to get around your billet parents and the fact that you look twelve?”

"Ouch,” Patrick says, thumping a hand across his heart and falling back onto the bed. “You wound me, Tazer.”

“Answer the question,” Jonny insists, looking very awake now. 

Patrick looks across the gap between the bed at him, curious. “Have you?” He’d assumed Jonny has—he’s been in college for two years, for fuck’s sake. Everything he’s heard about UND is that it’s basically endless chicks if you’re on the varsity team, and Jonny’s not disgusting looking.

“I asked you a truth,” Jonny insists, but the flush along his neck makes Patrick bite back on a  _wait, really?_  and look up at the ceiling, frowning as he puts several things together all at once.

“Yeah,” he says, as casually as he can manage. “A few times with this one girl I kind of dated, and then a bunch of other hook-ups." 

"Huh,” Jonny says, but if he doesn’t believe Patrick, he doesn’t say anything, just slides back into the bed, reaching for the bedside light.

“Hey, Tazer,” Pat says once Jonny’s settled. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Jonny says, like Patrick knew he would.

There’s a lot of things Patrick could say, right now, but most of them he thinks would make Jonny freak right out. He can start where Patrick did, though, even if he’s a couple of years behind. Patrick’s a good teacher, they’ll work through it.

“I dare you to jerk off,” Patrick says. “Right now.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny says, sharp and startled.

“Hey,” Patrick says, sliding his hand under the waistband of his boxers. “That’s a whole ‘nother dare.”


	5. Snippet: For America!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-sentence prompt: _apenelopiad asked: There isn't anything that can be done about it, Pat's going to have to fuck Tazer--for America and greater justice. Or something._

There isn't anything that can be done about it, Pat's going to have to fuck Tazer--for America and greater justice. Or something.

“Take off your pants,” Patrick says calmly, starting in on his belt.

Jonny ignores him and watches Patrick strip with a bemused expression. “What the fuck are you doing, Kaner?”

“I understand you’re vying for the Captain Canada title with Crosby,” Patrick says as he kicks off his pants and pushes down his boxers, “but there’s really no excuse for such biases.”

“It’s not a bias,” Jonny argues as Patrick pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it across the room. “I’m just not into Americans.”

“That’s totally racist,” Patrick says, appalled and naked. He puts his hands on his hips and looks sceptically at Jonny. “And you’ve lived in America for like, ten years. You haven’t got laid that whole time?”

“There are lots of Canadians in Chicago,” Jonny says, scooting back up the bed as Patrick advances. “And also, American isn’t a race.”

Patrick follows, snagging one of Jonny’s ankles and tugging off one sock. Jonny kicks him in the stomach but Patrick girds himself with his patriotic duty and perseveres, relieving Jonny of his second sock and then straddling his thighs to get to his belt.

“Patrick…” Jonny says, reluctant except he is (a) hard under his fly and (b) no longer putting up even a token fight, hands white knuckled in the bedspread.

Patrick pulls open Jonny’s zipper and sticks his hand down the front of his boxers, grabbing Jonny’s dick with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ glare. “What?” he says flatly. “Still gonna say you’re not into Americans?”

Jonny chews on his lip and twitches under the slide of Patrick’s palm. Patrick rubs the heel of his hand back and forth, foreskin sliding over the thickening head. “This is a bad idea,” Jonny says. “You really shouldn’t.”

“What, do you lose your virility if you have sex with Americans?"Patrick says with a twist of his wrist and a derisive snort.

All the blood drains out of Jonny’s face. And not in the good way where it goes to improving the structural integrity of his boner, either.

Patrick pauses, arm bent awkwardly as he tries to get down to Jonny’s balls. “Wait, really? I was kidding.”

"Not my virility, exactly,” Jonny hedges, totally failing to meet Patrick’s eyes. Which leaves him staring at Patrick’s dick, but that’s a pretty sweet view, in Patrick’s estimation.

(He’s got a lot of wows before, okay, it’s not conceited if it’s true.)

“Then what?” Patrick asks blankly, giving up trying to work around Jonny’s boxers and pulling his dick out to fist while he considers the possibilities. “Does God kill a kitten? Do you turn purple wherever American jizz touched you? Do you lose your voice?” He freezes, hand stilling on Jonny’s cock. “Do you lose  _hockey_?”

Jonny’s eyes flicker shut, face pained, and Patrick rears backwards.

“No,” Patrick gasps, his own dick wilting faster than if Bettman himself had walked in and proposed a making this a three-way. 

“Not hockey,” Jonny says quickly, and adds very very quietly, “my, uh…leadership skills.”

“Huh?” Patrick says stupidly.

“There was a hedge witch in freshman year that I maybe, uh, upset,” Jonny explains, expression one of utter misery. His dick is retreating sadly back under the waistband of his boxers as he goes soft. “I ditched him for a Canadian and he cursed me. If I touch American jizz I’ll lose all my leadership qualities.” He says the last bit very very fast while turning the colour of a tomato and making sheepish finger quotes, looking the very definition of pathetic.

“Dude,” Patrick says, leaning back on his hands. “Is that all?”

“They’re  _important_ ,” Jonny whines, which, okay, Patrick’s not gonna pretend Jonny’s not 50% an overdeveloped sense of responsibility (30% skill, 20% compete level, which is totally a thing no matter what the media thinks). Jonny without a C is as hard to picture as Jonny not making a five-hole on the shootout with disgusting regularity.

“Those are the exact terms?” Patrick says, thinking hard.

Jonny nods, giving Patrick a look of Canadian-level apology. Seriously, doesn’t he get a headache opening his eyes that wide all the time?

“Oh, hey,” Patrick says brightly, “is this why you freaked out that time I jerked off in your bed?”

Jonny blinks owlishly at him. “You needed another reason?” he says in high-pitched disbelief. “And it was  _four_  times, you jackass.”

Patrick ignores him and says, “We can totally bone, then.” He leans back in to yank on Jonny’s jeans, trying to pull them over the glorious impediment that is his ass.

“But—”

“Condoms for blow jobs are an abomination,” Patrick informs him causally, leaning down to suck the head of Jonny’s cock into his mouth, getting it wet and then sitting back to meet Jonny’s shocked red face. “But I’ll make an exception in times of need, as long as I get to stick it in.”

“But,” says Jonny, flailing. “What if—”

“Safe sex, Tazer,” Patrick says, jacking Jonny good and slow. “I know I’m totally irresistible and you’re dying to get covered in my come, but as long as we’re careful there’s no reason to deny yourself the best sex you’ll ever have.”

“As if Americans have better sex than everyone else,” Jonny says, looking up and down Patrick’s body.

Patrick rolls his eyes and rolls his thumb over Jonny’s frenulum, watching him twitch and blush harder. “I meant sex with me, you dick.” 

“That’s really not more believable,” Jonny says snidely.

Patrick smirks and resolves then and there to make him beg, exceptional leadership qualities be damned. 


	6. Timestamp: Tympani - "I don't want just the tip"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-sentence prompt: _trololoception asked: "I don't want just the tip," Jonny complains. "Kaner, c'mon."_
> 
> (Tympani-verse because apparently idk how to write anything else right now.)

"I don't want just the tip," Jonny complains. "Kaner, c'mon."

Patrick looks up from where the head of his cock is stretching Jonny’s hole. Jonny’s curved around the pillows, ass propped up, face pressed down, legs splayed around Patrick. His tanned skin is fucking glowing against the white linens.

“Nope,” Patrick says, picking the lube back up and smearing some in a palm. He wraps his hand around the shaft of his cock and gives it a short stroke, just an inch up and down between the base and where it disappears between Jonny’s clenching cheeks. “I’ve got a plan.”

Jonny tries to buck back onto Patrick’s dick, but Patrick gets a hand on the small of his back and pushes him back into the sheets. Jonny groans but goes, half-buried in the pile of blankets and pillows around him. Patrick strokes at the small of his back and waits until Jonny sighs and turns his head back into the pillows, settling beneath him.

Patrick wanted him comfortable for this, wanted him close to drifting. Jonny’s always so strung out when the fuck, and it’s amazing, it makes Patrick’s dick ache with need to fuck him to completion—but sometimes he wants it slow and lazy and soft, wants Jonny pliant and malleable without having to get him off three times and push him into whining oversensitivity first.

He strokes his fingers down from the small of Jonny’s back into the crease of his ass, rubbing carefully at the hot skin stretched around his hole. Jonny makes a muffled “unf” into the pillows and tucks his chin down. “What’s the plan?” 

Patrick starts stroking himself again, tight, slow pulls, and carefully leans back. His cock pops free and he pushes it down Jonny’s perineum, stroking wet and heavy down to his balls and back up. Jonny’s mouth drops open, pink tongue flicking out, and he shivers as Patrick uses his thumb to press his swollen, shiny cockhead back through the tight ring of Jonny’s hole. God, the stretch of it looks so good, Jonny opening so sweet and easy for Patrick.

“I’m gonna fuck you like this,” Patrick says, pulling back out. Jonny’s hole spasms, and Patrick shoves quickly back in before he closes up, just an inch, just barely inside. “Make you wait, make you want it, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“But—”

“Just until I’m done,” Patrick interrupts, pushing his thumb against Jonny’s rim until it’s sliding inside, sweet hot pressure alongside his dick. Jonny trembles but holds still, fingers curling into the bedspread. “I’m gonna fill you up, wet and slick with my come, and then I’m going to slide my fingers inside your messy fucking hole and make you come.”

“Oh god,” Jonny says, tremour going through his shoulders.

Patrick grins. He pulls his thumb back out and reaches between Jonny’s legs to cup at his balls, smooth and tight and jerking under his touch. He pushes his thumb in below them to feel Jonny tighten around him, then wraps his hand around his dick and starts stroking, watching Jonny sink into the bed, all soft and heavy limbs.


	7. Timestamp: Tympani - Accidental Voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _spatzenhaus asked: 20. accidental voyeurism by an outside POV and 18. coming from ass play only combined pretty please?? (and I think we both know whose ass should be involved *cough*jonny's*cough*)_
> 
> (Moooore Tympani-verse. I wouldn’t even consider this 100% canon cause Cody was not, in my head, gay, but oh well it was fun to write for this VERY OLD PROMPT.)

Nobody warned Cody the convention would be quite so much drinking, but he’s grateful that Kaner decided to host the final round at his condo, because waking up on the floor of Kaner’s guest bathroom is definitely better than waking up on the floor of a club bathroom. ****

Not that he’s ever done that, Isak—he was totally conscious that time, just tired from puking, thanks.

Cody pisses, rinses out his mouth, and slathers an abandoned stick of deodorant on the counter under his pits before feeling steady enough to make the short trip out the guest bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen, because hungover and aching or not, he’s twenty years old and starving.

Except.

The kitchen opens to the dining room. Kind of an arch, light coming through the big windows on the other side of the table. 

The dining room contains his Captain, sprawled face-down over the table, head turned towards the morning light, boxers pulled down around his thighs.

And also Kaner. Which. Jesus, Cody didn’t know this was a thing. Was he supposed to know this was a thing? He’s red, burning up with—fuck, with everything, and his dehydrated dick is rising in his shorts, and Jonny is actually whimpering.

Cody would be too, if he had Kaner’s mouth on his ass. If he had Kaner’s mouth on, well, anything. Kaner isn’t touchy-feely like a lot of hockey players, but once he put his hand way low on Cody’s hip to adjust his stance, and Cody had to fake a bathroom emergency because his leggings had not been any sort of protection against boner-induced humiliation.

He’s got absolutely no hope against this. Leaving isn’t even a word in his vocabulary, let alone a god-damned option. Kaner’s sitting in a chair, pulled up behind Jonny, and is pulling Jonny’s fucking ridiculous asscheeks apart, fingers denting flesh and face pressed in between. Cody can’t see his tongue but he can see every twitch of Jonny’s thighs, the shift of his hips, the roll of his shoulders as Kaner eats him out, the wet, sloppy sounds echoing in the bright condo. 

He’s got his hands between Jonny’s legs, too, but Jonny’s cock is jutting out, bare and dripping on the edge of the table. Cody’s mouth waters. He presses the base of one hand to his mouth, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, and pushes the fingers of his other hand against his dick. 

“Fuck, please,” Jonny says on a low, rumbling groan. “Use your fingers, c’mon.”

Kaner pulls back. Cody jumps, shifting back against the fridge until he can’t see Kaner’s face anymore, just his hands smoothing over Jonny’s hips and over the curve of his ass, pressing back between his cheeks.

“Like that?” Kaner says.

“Dick,” Jonny answers with a huff. 

“Nah,” Kaner says. “Wanna see you come on my fingers this morning.”

Cody swallows a groan and stuffs his hand down his shorts, the slide of his fingers against his dick aching relief. He thumbs at the head and then squeezes in a firm circle around the tip, just in time to hear this wrecked, high-pitched gasp spill out of Jonny.  _Jesus fucking Christ_  he mouths to himself, tugging his dick in short, desperate little strokes. He can still see Jonny’s dick, bobbing red between his thighs as he rocks back onto Kaner’s hand, gasps going throaty and raw. He’s flushed pink in the morning light, shoulders and arms bunching against the table. 

It’s porn, it’s the best porn Cody’s ever seen, and it’s the Captain of his National Fucking Hockey League team being fingerbanged into the next century by Cody’s favourite player in the history of ever. Hockey’s always got Cody hot, but this is like. Christmas and his birthday and the Stanley Cup. If only he could—

“There,” Jonny says raggedly. “Oh I’m, you—Pat.”

“Fast or slow?” Kaner asks. 

“Uhn, fast,” Jonny gasps. “Then again, on your cock.”

“Fuuuck,” Kaner drawls, low and turned on. 

So does Cody, he can’t god-damned help it. Kaner doesn’t hear, but maybe Jonny does, because he turns his head before Cody can do more than still his hand on his dick, meeting Cody’s gaze straight-on as he slaps his palm to the table, arches his back, and comes all over the shiny mahogany surface.

It’s too much. Cody’s coming too, in a rush as strong as the humiliation coursing through him, thick spurts coating the inside of his shorts in time with Jonny’s broken gasps. Cody pulls his hand from his shorts, wet fingers dangling awkwardly at his side as he sags against the fridge, watching Jonny’s heavy, shaking breaths. His eyes are closed, now, so maybe—yeah. Cody should go. He should have gone already, ages ago. 

“You wanna move?” Kaner asks, slapping Jonny gently on the ass. “Or wait here while I get the lube?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Jonny says, pushing up on his arm and opening his eyes. “Gonna grab some water.” Cody swallows, trapped, but Jonny stays quiet as Patrick’s footsteps recede towards the master bedroom.

“Sorry,” Cody whispers, stomach churning. There’s come dripping down his thigh, cold and disgusting. He’s disgusting. “I—yeah. Sorry.”

“Christ, kid, get out of here,” Jonny says softly, pushing up onto his arms. 

Cody flinches, except—Jonny doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t look it, either. He looks—well, fucked out, but also maybe…rolling his eyes? 

“Or we can wait here until Kaner comes looking for me, and you can listen to me tell him you watched that, your choice,” Jonny adds.

“Uh,” Cody says, wide-eyed and suddenly able to move again. “Right. I’m gonna—back to bed? The bathroom. Still. Asleep. In the bathroom.”

“Good plan,” Jonny says, wry. He pulls up his boxers, tucking himself away as Cody wipes his wet hand awkwardly on his own. “What are you waiting for?”

“Are you, well,” Cody jerks his chin in the direction of Kaner’s bedroom. “Gonna tell him?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says flatly. 

Cody flinches, throat closing up. Fuck, Kaner’s gonna—he’s never going to be able to look him in the face again, and they play on a god-damned line together.

“Sorry,” Jonny says, not sounding it. “No secrets in this relationship.”

“Okay,” Cody says miserably. He turns to leave, and then pauses, glancing back at Jonny. “So it’s a…”

“I think you’ve seen enough of our business today, eh?” Jonny says pointedly.

“Right,” Cody says hastily. “I won’t—I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

That makes Jonny bring a hand up to his chin and rub at it, head tilting thoughtfully. “Nah,” he says after a moment. “You don’t need to keep our secrets.”

“I can!” Cody protests. 

“Don’t,” Jonny says with a smile. “Well—maybe keep the detail to a minimum, but in general…”

“You sure?” Cody says, dubious. “Kaner’s okay with that?” 

“No secrets,” Jonny repeats with a shrug. “We’re ready.”

He doesn’t wait for whatever Cody could figure out to say to that, just leaves him alone in the kitchen with sticky shorts and pink-faced embarrassment and just the barest beginnings of a smile. 


	8. Headcanon: Politicians AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _the4freedoms asked: K/T, basketball au. I KIDDDDD. K/T, politician au._

1\. Let’s go local and say Patrick is running for municipal counsellor in, because I know it better than London, Guelph. He played for the local junior hockey team (the Storm) and helped them win a championship, but had to quit because of injury in his draft year. He didn’t want to slink back home and work for his dad, so he stuck around in Guelph. The CHL pays for you to go to university, so once Patrick finished high school he enrolled and got his shit together enough to get a double major in PoliSci and commerce.

2\. After he graduates he gets a job with City Hall, working on the recreation portfolio at first. It turns out he’s pretty good with people, and ends up winding his way up the food chain over the next few of years. A lot of people in town remember him, too, as the brash OHL rookie who helped the Storm steal that championship from the favourites, so he’s got a lot of goodwill in town. He’s sometimes kind of a dick about it, but only ever because it reminds him what he lost or on, not because he thinks he’s owed it.

3\. It makes it an easy call to run for his riding when the incumbent retires. He’s lived in the riding since he was sixteen, so nobody can say he’s not a hometown boy now. Still, there’s a lot of muttering that he’s a too-young upstart riding on his teenage glory days. That pisses Patrick off enough to decide to take this seriously and *win*. Guelph’s a weirdly hippie town. Very agricultural history but it’s the only liberal seat in all of (not Toronto) Southern Ontario. It’s famous for its Vet School, agricultural research, and foodie culture, and Patrick knows he needs somebody to help him tap into that. He’s got an okay budget, thanks to all his hockey connections, but he’s got to ask around for suggestions as to who can be his right hand man.

4\. Jonny did his undergrad there in communications and then left to study PR, but he comes back when his professor tells him Patrick Kane is looking for a campaign manager. Partly because he misses the small city–Toronto is too big for him–but mostly because he knew Patrick when he was a miserable nineteen year old and started coming to the Guelph Grotto, the climbing gym Jonny worked part time at, working out his frustrations on the wall. And he’s, well, curious to see if Patrick’s for real, now.

(4.b. They also spent several months fucking before Patrick freaked out about getting outed and stopped showing up at the gym, but Jonny graduated the next month so it would have ended anyway. That’s what Jonny tells himself, at least–it’s not like he was going to stay in Guelph at 21.)

5\. They clash. A lot. Patrick’s been working for the city for six years and thinks a lot of the demands of the residents are completely unreasonable if they understood the details. Jonny points out they aren’t voting for details, they’re voting for a message. Jonny pushes Patrick on what he really believes, and Patrick sneers at Jonny’s idealism. Underneath it all, they’re on the same page, but they spend a lot of time trying to see it instead of making assumptions about each other.

6\. There’s a lot of sexual tension underlying all these fights. They almost end up in bed together several times, but Jonny keeps bailing. The third time it happens, Patrick demands to know what Jonny’s problem is, and Jonny tells him point-blank that he doesn’t fuck closet cases. Patrick watches him leave and then sits with his laptop open on his campaign website until four am, until he’s tired enough to sleep despite the adrenaline at adding the line, “as a gay man, Patrick will do his best to represent the interests of the LGBT community in City Hall.” He wakes up in the early afternoon with Jonny sitting on the end of his bed like a creeper, looking upset. “You didn’t have to do that,” Jonny says. Patrick’s weirdly furious and tells him he didn’t do it for him, and to get the fuck out of his room. The last couple weeks of the campaign are awkward but strictly professional.

7\. That breaks when Patrick wins his riding by a solid ten percent of the vote. They’re both so elated that the first thing they do is spend fifteen minutes making out in the bathroom. Jonny breaks it off halfway though and says “you better fucking hire me, asshole, I signed year-long lease.” Patrick gapes at him, enraged and delighted all at once, because Jonny made it perfectly clear there was no way in hell he thought Patrick could win. Jonny blushes when Patrick calls him on it and mutters something about motivation.

(7.b. Jonny waits a year before he tells Patrick that he was going to stay no matter what, even if Patrick lost.

“I like the city,” Jonny says, looking sheepish.

“Right,” Patrick says, slyly. “You like *my* city.”

“I don’t think you’re the mayor yet, buddy.”

“…yet?”)


	9. Headcanon: Woke Up Married + Star Trek AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _monalisasnmadhatters asked: kaner/tazer woke up married_
> 
> (Iiiiii dunno this looks like a trope and not an AU to me! :P But that’s okay because “woke up married” and variations thereon are one of my favourite tropes in scifi universes, so let’s go Star Trek AU.)

1\. Patrick is a diplomatic envoy and Jonny his interpreter/assistant/bodyguard. The last one is kept on the hush-hush because a lot of alien species get kind of huffy when it looks like you think you need to send your diplomat with an ex-Black Ops…well, Jonny never will say exactly  _what_  he did in Starfleet Intelligence, no matter how drunk Patrick gets him. But Jonny’s also pretty good with languages, so that’s a decent cover. He’s crap at the paperwork, though, so Patrick ends up doing most of it himself.

2\. They’ve got a pretty good track record–Patrick’s got two whole peace treaties, six economic accords, a multi-system free-trade agreement, an assortment of minor trade and free passage agreements and eleven “we won’t shoot you if you don’t shoot us” unofficial but functional understandings as Chief Negotiator under his belt by thirty-six, which is precocious in the somewhat…antiquated world of diplomatic work. They’ve only ended up with four sworn enemies and started three minor skirmishes and a civil war in that same timeframe, but that civil war was inevitable, it had had nothing to do with Jonny’s untimely–well. Nothing to do with it.

3\. Point being, they’ve got six years together of an enormous amount of success and a few explosive failures and a reputation for tackling situations that could go either way and being able to get out of them with everything but Patrick’s left pinky (a victim of the free-trade agreement, oddly). So when the Federation’s current negotiator warps out of Pomben-Poonen faster than, well, the speed of light, Patrick gets dragged out of his five-star vacation on Risa, Jonny out of his decidedly not-five star vacation in his cabin in the Martian lowlands to fix it. (Jonny’s such a fucking wild-man Martian sometimes, always talking about the impacts of terraforming–”even the name is Earth-centric!”–on the native landscape. Honestly, Patrick doesn’t know how he got passed SI’s screenings, he’s practically a terrorist.

“Don’t say terrorist, for fuck’s sake,” Jonny hisses as they walk down the Very Long Impressive Hall to the PomPoo king’s throne room. “And stop saying PomPoo.”

“The planet is called  _Pomben-Poonen_ ,” Patrick whispers back, grinning widely at their wide-eyed escort. “What else am I supposed to call them?”

Jonny mutters something about Patrick’s failures as a diplomat, which are all entirely fictional. Patrick is  _brilliant_  at his job.)

4\. By the time the sun goes, well, low on the horizon at least, Patrick’s got a conditional draft on the table. It’s got a lot of fill-in-the-blanks but the bones are there. It wasn’t even  _hard_  and frankly Patrick doesn’t know why Ms. Aroo Loyo couldn’t hack it.

“I guess the PomPoos weren’t so scary,” Jonny says as he shuts the door to their room, an average level of gilt in Patrick’s experience. The bed is a wide nest tucked into the corner, thankfully comfortable looking.

“Hah!” Patrick says, pointing at Jonny. “You’re saying it!”

Jonny rolls his eyes and goes to scan the room for bugs or whatever else he does to make sure Patrick doesn’t die in the night.

(”Also so  _I_ don’t die in the night, thanks.”

“You are not the diplomatic genius, sorry love.”)

5\. So yeah, they wake up married. Turns out it was in the fine print of the draft, somehow unconditional and immediate despite all those stupid blanks. Patrick argues for ten minutes just to make sure there are no further repercussions beyond “affirming their commitment to the commitment–they have the most repetitive language I swear” and then shrugs. The junior staff will work out the fine details of the treaty, he can get back to Risa before his precious reservation’s completely over.

“You wanna come this time?” he says to Jonny while they’re waiting to be beamed back up to their transport. “Eight-handed massages, illegal beverages, perfect sandy beaches with very few clothes?”

“Nah, have fun, I’ve got the greenhouse to finish,” Jonny says. “Do you think we should tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Patrick says blankly. 

Jonny’s unimpressed face disappears in a haze of shimmering sparks. Patrick waits until he can feel the tip of his nose before trying to sock Jonny on the arm–Jonny catches his fist, as usual. He should be slower, dammit–more mass, more time. He never is.

“Nah,” Patrick says as they step off the pad. “Let’s not jeopardize the treaty.”

“If you’re sure,” Jonny says dubiously. 

“Aw, are you feeling unacknowledged, babe?” Patrick says, slinging his arm around Jonny’s shoulder and kissing his cheek. “We just had a very public, very sneaky wedding ceremony! You’re acknowledged by the high PomPoo!”

“I liked the first ceremony best,” Jonny says, rolling his eyes. “The fourth was okay, too.”

“You just liked that you had to fight for my hand, that time,” Patrick says. “I liked the ninth a lot.”

“The one where we had to fuck on a tree-stump while the Grand Minister Of, fuck, I don’t even remember, old important traditions, watched our blessed union?” 

“Yes,” Patrick says, laughing. “But you’re right. The first one was best.”


	10. Headcanon: High School Sweethearts AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _redcrate asked: Au of your choice? For the 5 head canon thing._
> 
> I HAD A WEIRD DAY where I forgot to take my meds and was exhausted and so I took horrible, id-tastic advantage of this prompt to do a high school AU, but specifically my high school relationship experience (or the major one, at least). I realized a few months back this would be something of an intense narrative, but I doubt I could ever write it, so here it is in headcanon/notfic form. (All 1800 words, whoops.) Warnings for non-fatal cancer, by the way–and this is not exactly my experience, for several reasons, but the guts of it are basically mine, I make zero bones about that!

1\. Jonny and Patrick have been best friends since grade 9. They play hockey together—Jonny’s also on the soccer team but Patrick picks football, a neverending conflict between them—have a bunch of classes together, hang out at lunch and after school and on weekends, the whole shebang. They’re also kind of crazy into each other but not particularly confident in admitting that. They made out that one time in grade 9 after getting high at Chris’s house, but they never said anything about it afterwards.

Jonny goes away for camp and vacations and visiting family for most of the summer, and maybe spending that much time apart makes it easier to admit they both really hate it, and in the fall they end up kind-of-sort-of-awkwardly-dating. It’s not a thing, nobody knows about it, but if their Saturday game sessions end up as make-outs in Jonny’s bedroom, well, Jonny’s parents are good at respecting his privacy, so nobody has to know. It’s still pretty awkward, and they keep trying to break it off but ending up fooling around anyway. Somehow despite the on-and-off relationship-thing, their friendship remains as solid as ever. It’s a bit like they’ve got a double life, which Patrick thinks is kind of cool when it’s not confusing the fuck out of him

2\. They’re ostensibly ‘off’ when Patrick goes with his family to Mexico over the Christmas break for a vacation. They kind of fought, unusually, because Jonny’d asked a girl out to the Holiday dance and Patrick thought that was a bit of an asshole thing to do. But Jonny’s still the first person he calls when he gets back home, three days before the end of their vacation. He doesn’t even realize it’s New Year’s Eve when he makes the call, but he catches Jonny just before Jonny’s family goes out for dinner to celebrate and tells him he’s in the hospital.

“What?” Jonny says stupidly.

“In Mexico, my glands swelled up,” Patrick explains patiently. “They told me to see somebody right away, so we got an early flight back. Turns out it’s, uh, cancer.”

“What?” Jonny says again. “You—what?”

“Leukemia?” Patrick says, voice faltering. “It’s—they say it’s the good kind.”

“You have—it’s cancer,” Jonny says wildly. “How is there a good kind?”

“Apparently it’s really treatable in kids,” Patrick says. “They’re just—I’m kind of old for a kid, so it depends. The doctors aren’t sure if I’ll respond like an adult or not.”

Jonny swallows, gripping the phone so tight the plastic creaks under his ear.

“You don’t even have pubes, man,” he says. “I think you’re still a kid.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick says. “I do so. They’re just—blond.”

Jonny goes out to dinner. It’s Italian. He was wearing his favourite blue shirt. He remembers every detail about that dinner, except for what he was thinking.

3\. So Patrick has cancer. Jonny goes back to school and Patrick stays in the hospital, and every time anybody asks Jonny how his holiday was he has to say “well, Christmas was great, but New Year’s sucked” and tell them his best friend has cancer. He gets these looks back that…he thinks maybe people know. He’s not sure, and he’s too dazed to panic about it, but they keep saying sorry, Jonny, I’m so sorry, like they know that Patrick’s not just his best friend. His teachers even go out of their way to support Jonny, like he’s the one who’s sick, not Patrick.

There’s a history test the second week back, a big one, and Mr. Leech pulls him aside the week before and says he can postpone it, if Jonny wants. Jonny says no, because he’s—he’s fine, right? He’s not sick, Patrick’s sick. He’s fine. He organizes Patrick getting all his homework, assignments and readings and everything, he goes to visit him a the hospital three times in five days, even though his parents try to tell him not to push too hard. How can he push too hard? He’s fine. Patrick isn’t fine, he looks pale in the hospital lighting and the scrubs and there’s a fucking hole in his chest where they stuck the tubes in him to pour bags of shit that have biohazard symbols on them. But Jonny’s fine. Patrick tells him to chill but dude, he already is, he’s fine.

He comes to school the morning of the test and realizes he’s forgotten everything he knows about the Confederation. Mr. Leech is in his office when he comes by instead of going to homeroom and looks solemn and understanding when Jonny says, “I think—I don’t think…. Can I postpone the test? I’m really sorry, I should have—”

“Jonny, it’s fine,” Mr. Leech says, and that’s when Jonny starts crying.

It’s embarrassing as fuck. Mr. Leech writes him a note for being late and tells him to chill in his office until he’s good, and that he can write the test whenever he’s up for it.

4\. The first time Jonny gets off with another person is in a hospital bed. It’s surreal, when he thinks about it too closely, so he mostly doesn’t. If he and Patrick had been ‘off’ before Christmas, there’s no way they’re staying that way now. Jonny comes by twice during the week—his parents won’t let him go more, even though Donna drives him home every evening to save him a bus trip—and spends most of Sunday there. There’s not too much to do–card games, movies, watching whatever hockey is on TV—but the hospital bed is narrow and warm and the nurses know to knock before they come in. Jonny has to be careful not to pull out Patrick’s IV or jostle his port, and sometimes Patrick’s too nauseous to do more than curl up against Jonny’s side, but sometimes he’s feeling good and things get really intense. Jonny doesn’t know if it’s so much because it’s new or because it’s Patrick or because it’s here, but sometimes after Patrick jerks him off carefully under the blankets and then brushes Jonny away because he can’t get it up, not today, not right after a round of chemo, Jonny feels like crying all over again.

5\. He doesn’t, because Patrick doesn’t. Patrick’s tough as balls through the whole thing, upbeat for his mom and dad and sisters and Jonny, and Jonny gets angry, eventually, tells him he doesn’t have to pretend. Patrick shrugs and says there’s no point. Everything’s going according to plan, best-case-scenario.

“I’ve gotta save freaking out for when I get really bad news, you know?” Patrick says, half-smiling at Jonny. He’s shivering a little, despite the wamth of the room and the layers of blankets and the beanie keeping his bare head warm. His face looks strange without his thick eyebrows lighting up his face. He looks so sick, sometimes, that Jonny wants to throw up.

6\. Patrick gets out of the hospital in remission after six weeks, all according to plan. He can’t come to school, though, his immune system is still too fucked. Jonny keeps bringing him schoolwork, visiting him at home instead of at the hospital. He doesn’t think Patrick’s parents approve of what must be obvious, now—when Donna knocks and Patrick says ‘one minute’ so they can hastily get dressed, she looks pinched—but they don’t say anything. They try everything in the long-evenings spent alone in Patrick’s room. Patrick tells him at one point he gets a headache every time he comes because of the steroids, and Jonny’s horrified, but Patrick just laughs and says it still feels good, he’s just gotta push through the pain.

7\. The whole semester is a blur, Patrick the only thing Jonny can really focus on. School, friends, even hockey, which he only keeps up with because Patrick told him he would never speak to him again if he quit the team, all fade against the backdrop of Patrick. Nothing feels as real as Patrick does, his beaten-down-but-not-out body tucked against Jonny’s, the surreal hours they spend with each other. Jonny feels like an adult, visiting his boyfriend after class instead of hanging out in the hall between periods. He thought they knew each other before this, but now it feels like knowing Patrick’s the entirety of his life.

The end of the school-year comes with the all-clear for Patrick to leave the house. It also comes with Jonny’s long-planned summer up at camp, where he’s working as a counsellor for the first time. He tries to tell Patrick he can cancel, but Patrick refuses to let him.

“Go, Jonny,” he says softly, poking at Jonny’s belly. “You’ve been awesome, okay? Kept me from going insane with nobody but my sisters around, but—you gotta go.”

“I don’t want to,”Jonny says stubbornly, burying his face in the pillow. “I want to stay here with you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Patrick says.

“I love you,” Jonny says, muffled. He’s said it a hundred times, they both have. It feels enormous, it feels obvious.

“Yeah, doofus,” Patrick says. “I love you too. But you gotta go do your own thing for a bit, not just babysit me.”

8\. So Jonny goes. It takes him a week to feel all-there, everything in him still clinging to home and Patrick. It takes him half the summer to stop feeling guilty—he calls Patrick a couple times a week at first, but he’s out tripping a lot, so it’s hard to stay in touch. He feels like he’s betraying Patrick by making other friends, and somehow that makes him pull away more. He skips the usual weekend phone call and send an apology email from the office computer four days later. Patrick emails back that it’s cool, he knows Jonny’s busy, he’s keeping busy too but he misses him.

There are girls, too, girls on the staff Jonny’s been friends with for years he never actually noticed before but who definitely are noticing him now. He flirts back even though he’s not really interested. Smiles back, when they lean in. Ends up in a bunk with Katrina, hands up her shirt and mouth on hers.

He calls Patrick from the camp pay-phone the next morning, sick and horrified and unable to confess. “I think we should break up,” he says, throat thick with guilt.

Patrick breathes out. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jonny says, shocked. “Okay? That’s all?”

“I was sick,” Patrick says simply, and Jonny feels like he’s been bashed in the head.

“That’s not why—”

“How do you know?” Patrick says sharply. “I don’t.”

“I love you,” Jonny says, desperately.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, tiredly. “Me too.”

They break up, like that, a long-distance phone call ending six months of Jonny’s life that he can hardly remember.  It’s awful but maybe—maybe it’s better. Maybe Patrick’s right, and none of it would have happened if Patrick hadn’t gotten sick. 

9\. Jonny’s back on the soccer team in the fall. Patrick’s on the football team. It’s not hockey season, yet, but it will be, soon.


	11. Headcanon: Boarding School AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Anonymous asked: K/T, boarding school_
> 
> Man I don’t know why I keep writing depressing teenager stories? But here, warnings for references to depression and poorly-thought-out nonsense.

1\. Let’s be different here and not use the obvious SSM, let’s go full non-hockey AU and send them to Pearson College, a fancy private school near Victoria on Vancouver Island. Why? Because it’s the most beautiful high school campus I’ve seen in my life, that’s why. (I did not attend, just visited it once since I visited Victoria to see family every year as a child.) They’re all about FUTURE WORLD LEADERS and kayaking on the Pacific and hiking in their beautiful northern rainforest ecosystem. *mutters something about Victoria being too nice for Canada*

2\. Jonny, the overachiever, skipped a grade, so despite having the same birth year Jonny’s two whole grades above Pat, so they don’t room together or share any classes. But they are both insane about watersports. No, don’t look at me like that, I’m talking waterskiing (Jonny’s better), kayaking (Pat’s got the better upper body strength for that), sailing (solo racing is always close but they both secretly prefer it when they go out together), swimming (Jonny’s got distance but Patrick’s a stronger sprinter). They spend a lot of time in wetsuits in the frigid Pacific, stretching the season until it’s just too damn cold on the inlet. 

3\. Jonny’s on a partial scholarship because of his epic middle-school accomplishments back in Winnipeg (he helped run a sports afterschool program for low-income 5-8 year olds back home) but Patrick’s parents more or less shipped him off when he started hanging out with ‘the wrong crowd’ in eighth grade. Patrick comes to the school like he’s some tough, poor Buffalo kid, but the fact is his parents have no problem paying the steep tuition with their very successful car-dealership. Jonny, who never wanted for anything but spent a lot of time with kids who wanted everything, called Patrick on his BS pretty much right away. If it weren’t for their mutual love of everything on the water, they wouldn’t have spoken for that first year. But they end up spending a lot of time together, and end up having this strange but intense friendship that feels separate from the claustrophobic space that is the school.

4\. Next year, when Jonny’s in grade 12 and Patrick 10 (‘nobody says sophomore here, Pat, you just sound like an idiot’), Patrick comes back from Buffalo kind of depressed. He misses his family a lot, and he’s not angry at them anymore for sending him away, so that’s not a shield anymore. Boarding school really isn’t a great fit for him, especially this one. His parents thought it sounded prestigious, and the extra-curriculars are great, but it’s a lot of, well, really intense dorks like Jonny, and Patrick’s pretty sure he doesn’t even want to go to university. He starts slacking, sleeping in too long, not being able to fall asleep at night. He takes a lot of naps and stops working out with Jonny. Jonny gets pretty concerned and starts mother-henning him a lot, and Patrick ends up trying to divert Jonny’s attention by pulling him into the boathouse and kissing him. It’s pretty effective. Jonny’s kind of blown away by how much he likes making out with Patrick, he really hadn’t ever thought about it, but after Christmas break, Patrick starts avoiding even Jonny, he ends up confronting Patrick about how much he’s letting everything slide.

5\. Patrick reacts with all the grace of a depressed 15 year-old and lashes out. It actually ends in a fistfight on the docks, and both of them get a really sharp shock when they end up falling off and into the absolutely frigid but fortunately not frozen January water. They drag themselves shivering back to Jonny’s room, cause it’s closer. Patrick’s a mess, now, numb in all the ways and he can’t figure out if he’s about to cry or never will again. Jonny just manhandles him out of his wet clothes, strips off his own, and pushes him in under the covers until Patrick’s shivering turns into tears.

6\. Patrick goes home, after that. Jonny helps him talk to the school, then they all sit down and talk with his parents together. Jonny said he shouldn’t be there but Patrick wanted him, because Jonny can put words to what’s happened. It’s all kind of a soft-focus blur, for Patrick, words too heavy to get out of his throat. Jonny doesn’t want to see Patrick leave but he doesn’t want him to be miserable, and he can’t be selfish about it. 

7\. Patrick doesn’t get in touch with Jonny for the rest of the school year. Jonny gets into U of T and after his summer in Winnipeg, sends Patrick an email letting him know he’ll be in his neck of the woods. He’s not really expecting anything back, even though he’s desperate to know if Patrick’s okay. Patrick feels a little like a a dream he had, his brightness muted by the heavy sadness he carried around for the last five months of their friendship. So Jonny’s almost forgotten about the email by the time Thanksgiving rolls around. Winnipeg’s too much of a slog for three days, but he gets an email that says “Happy Canadian Turkey Day” in the subject-line. 

_I’ve got a free period on Friday,_ the email says,  _so I could catch a bus to TO to come hang out. If you’re not doing anything with family or whatever._

Jonny stretches his fingers over the keyboard and then emails back, _that’d be awesome. Come on up._

 


	12. Headcanon: Same Route on Public Transport AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _deformed-globule asked: SO LATE BUT: k/t, same route on public transport au? With bonus shenanigans?_
> 
> I accidentally sent this back to deformed-globule with only the word “PORNY?” in it as I tried to save it in my drafts, so she kindly sent me this second request. :D It is not SUPER porny but it is basically a weak set-up for imagined porn. :P

1\. Jonny gets on the bus at the same stop as this blond curly-headed guy. They’re fairly far down the line of an express route, so the bus is always pretty crowded by the time it gets to them, even though there’s another 20-30 minutes, depending on traffic, before Jonny gets off at his downtown stop. He doesn’t know where the dude gets off, but he thinks probably at the university, judging by his ratty clothes and overflowing backpack.

2\. Jonny’s just started at a grown-up job at a consulting firm downtown and actually gets to wear suits instead of jeans and t-shirts. But. Okay, this is going to sound weird, but. Suit pants are kind of…light? Like, jeans are tough and thick and keep…everything sort of contained, but the lightweight wool of his brand-new suit pants are a lot less…protective. He’s starting to think he needs to invest in some more constrictive underwear than his cotton boxers.

3\. This is a problem, because the blond guy is jacked. It’s early fall and he wears a lot of tight t-shirts under flannel shirts, unbuttoned to show off his pecs, sleeves rolled-up to show off his forearms. He and Jonny always end up squashed near the front of the bus, trying to stay out of the drivers’ view out the window, and Jonny keeps getting hard watching his muscles flex as he holds on. Jonny spends a lot of time shifting his satchel in front of his crotch subtly, trying not to stare at the way the guys’ nipples are all pebbled up under his shirt.

4\. God, he thought that was bad enough, until he shows up at the bus stop one Friday and the guy—Patrick, he actually got his name last week, found out he is a student and shares a place with a bunch of guys around the corner from Jonny—is wearing a henley that just. Clings. Jonny’s proud of his physique but this guy’s shoulders, the way they taper down to his narrow hips, henley flat against his stomach and so tight Jonny can see the ripple of his abs…fuck. He’s blushing just looking at him.

Patrick doesn’t seem to notice, just gives him a friendly hello and tucks himself up against the wall behind the bus driver so Jonny can fit in next to him, barely a breath of space between them. Patrick’s engrossed in his cellphone so there’s nothing to stop Jonny staring the whole damn time. Patrick’s not even holding on, he’s just braced back against the wall, feet spread around Jonny’s feet, body working to keep himself upright as the bus rumbles and lurches through the city. Jonny’s so distracted that when the bus veers sharply, he almost loses his balance and ends up with his free hand pressed next to Patrick’s ear, his hips just barely held back from Patrick’s abs. Cause that—that would be creepy.

Patrick doesn’t help by getting a hand on Jonny’s hip, broad hand spreading and thumb digging in to steady Jonny as he glaces up with a grin.

“Rough ride, eh?”

“My favourite kind,” Jonny says and then immediately turns beet red. “Uh.”

Patrick jerks his eyebrows up, his hand still pressed to Jonny. His thumb is. Moving. Just a little. Little strokes against Jonny’s hipbone. “This is you.”

Jonny glances down. A mistake, because Patrick does too, and he’d have to be blind to miss how Jonny’s chubbed up in his slacks. “Uh, yeah,” Jonny says, clearing his throat. “That’s. Me.”

Patrick laughs. “No, your stop,” he says.

So fortunately Jonny has to scramble before the driver closes the door on him instead of facing that humiliating fuck-up.

5\. Of course, that’s the day he happens to get on the same bus home as Patrick. He went for happy hour with some coworkers and is comfortably tipsy, jacket on one arm and tie in his bag and there’s Patrick, sitting near the back. Jonny blesses each and every pint he imbibed after work and walks straight to him, settling down into the empty seat next to him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Patrick says, tucking his phone in his pocket with a shift of his hips.

“Sorry about this morning,” Jonny says sheepishly.

Patrick chews thoughtfully at his lip for a moment, gaze flicking up and down Jonny’s body. Jonny shifts in his chair, skin warm, wishing he had more space to stretch out his legs. He’s at least got his satchel over his lap, so nothing as embarrassing as this morning can happen.

Patrick looks back up to meet Jonny’s gaze, skeptical and inviting all at once. “No worries,” Patrick says, knocking his knee into Jonny’s and then settling his broad, warm palm over it. Jonny shivers, and Patrick goes on, “You doing anything tonight?”

“Nope,” Jonny says, trying to stay still as Patrick draws little circles on his knee. Jesus, that feels so good. “You got something in mind?”

Patrick slides his nails up Jonny’s inner thigh, a soft drag over the wool that makes Jonny shiver and tighten his hands on his bag. Fuck, he’s totally getting hard again, just from this. “Well,” Patrick says, tilting his chin with a smile. “I don’t have a car, but I figured I could give you that ride, anyway.”

6\. Patrick finds out Jonny wasn’t lying about liking it rough.  It’s good, cause Patrick likes to go hard and he likes it when they’re loud and appreciative, and it turns out Patrick’s been appreciating Jonny’s physique just as much as Jonny had his. (“Jeans, man. Or just tuck better, it’s not hard.” “If it weren’t hard I wouldn’t have this problem.” “Laaaaame.”) It’s not great because they both miss their regular bus on Monday morning, but the next one’s a lot emptier and if Patrick keeps his hand in Jonny’s lap, tucked under his satchel and touching him just enough to keep him hard, well, nobody’s looking, anyway.


	13. Sequel: Public Transport Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _trololoception replied to your post: The commuter met-on-transit fic time stamp! Morning after with Patrick’s roommates!_

When Jonny wakes up, the bed is empty. It’s warm in the room, air a bit stale and smelling faintly of sex. Jonny’s sweating lightly, the sheets tangled at his feet. The light pouring through the window says noon is rapidly approaching. He groans, rolling his shoulders into the mattress–not firm enough for his tastes, but the sheets are soft and quality cotton–and pushes up on his elbows.

There’s a bruise in the hollow of his hip, dark and mouth-shaped. Faint pink scratches mark where Patrick clawed across his belly and Jonny’s lower lip is still tender where Patrick bit down. He lifts his hand to thumb across it gently, humming when he morning wood twitches along his stomach.

Fuck, last night was amazing. Jonny hasn’t felt this achy-good the next day in years.

It takes Jonny a minute to find his boxers, kicked under the bed somehow. The bathroom is easier, right across the hall from Patrick’s bedroom, and he pisses and rinses off his face and gargles a few mouthfuls of water to get the stale morning & jizz breath taste out of it.

He takes the stairs two at a time, veering left at the bottom of the stairs in search of the kitchen, and ends up in the living room instead, with three people who are definitely not-Patrick staring up him.

“Uh,” he says, abruptly conscious of his tight boxer-briefs and bare chest. “Morning.”

“Good morning, gorgeous,” drawls out the girl on the beanbag chair underneath the palm tree in the corner.

Jonny blushes. He crosses his arms across his chest and then feels dumb, dropping them back to his sides. “I’m, uh, looking for Patrick?” Jonny fumbles out, wishing he had pockets.

“Died,” says the guy on the floor. He tilts his head at Jonny, giving him a lewd up-down, then flashes him a toothy grin. “I’m his replacement.”

“It did sound like murder last night,” adds beanbag-chair. “All that grunting and yelling.”

“Right,” Jonny says, mouth twitching at the corners. “Sorry about that. Is he–”

“Kitchen,” says the second dude, who’s shut his eyes and looks half-asleep on the couch. “Back the way you came. And don’t apologize, chicken, it was a good show.”

“Then I guess you’re welcome,” Jonny says, grinning outright as he turns around to leave and gets a whistle for his efforts.

“Your roommates are perverts,” Jonny informs Patrick when he steps into the kitchen. It’s a disaster, dishes piled high and counterspace non-existent, but there’s a half-full carafe of coffee and clean mugs on the shelf above them.

Patrick pulls his head out of the fridge, spoon in his mouth, yogurt in one hand and milk in the other. “Mmph?” he says.

“Apparently they enjoyed the, uh, sound effects last night,” Jonny says. He reaches out to pull the spoon from Patrick’s mouth.

Patrick smirks, tongue poking through his teeth. “They would.”

“I thought they were out?” Jonny says, trading the the milk for the spoon and pouring some in his and then Patrick’s mug. “Sugar?”

“Nah,” Patrick says. “They were gaming in the basement, though, so I figured they wouldn’t care. Guess they went to bed.”

“Whoops,” Jonny deadpans, pushing the mug at Patrick and taking a sip of his own. “I guess we’ll have to tone it down next time.”

The face Patrick makes is so immediately negative that Jonny’s stomach drops. Was he presuming too much? It was good sex but maybe Patrick’s not looking for repeats, after all. He didn’t stick around in his own bed, which maybe was a sign Jonny should have processed, but he’s been so buzzed-up on good sleep and good sex that he hadn’t thought–

“Oh honey,” Patrick says, all the negativity melting away into a warm, mischievous smile. “That was just me getting starting.”

“Oh yeah?” Jonny says. It comes out dry and rough, and he lifts his mug to cover it.

He almost spills coffee down his bare chest when Patrick’s fingers hit the waistband of his boxers and curl underneath, pressing into the hickey and then sliding down to rub at Jonny’s cock. Jonny swallows, toes curling into the floor as Patrick cups his balls and tugs, just hard enough to make Jonny’s skin goosebump up despite the summer heat.

“We should, um, upstairs?” Jonny chokes out, putting the mug down with a clack, coffee spilling out over his fingertips.

Patrick pushes him back with his palm on Jonny’s junk until he’s pressed against the counter, Jonny’s breath coming in short, hot pants against Patrick’s temple. He whines when Patrick licks up his throat, gripping tight to Patrick’s muscled shoulder.

“You are so fucking responsive,” Patrick murmurs into his skin, the hum ticklish. “Just like on the bus, hm? Getting hot just having me close?”

Jonny’s not sure Patrick’s fingers curling around his stiffening cock is quite comparable to watching him flex on public transit, but he doesn’t see any point in arguing, not when Patrick seems like he’s gearing up for a pre-breakfast, morning-after handie after all.

Or, well. “Christ,” Jonny says, bringing his other hand up to his mouth and biting down hard on the heel of his palm as Patrick goes to his knees, dragging Jonny’s boxers down with him and swallowing his dick.

Patrick gives him a couple hard sucks and then pulls off with a slick pop. “Hands on the counter, baby,” he says in a ridiculously hot rumble. “I wanna hear you.”

“But your roommates,” Jonny says desperately, hips jerking forward as Patrick licks at his cockhead. He does it anyway, fingers finding purchase on the edge of the countertop.

“Well,” Patrick says, biting on his cheek thoughtfully. “You can be quiet and let them walk in on us, or loud and give them fair warning. Your choice.”

“Oh fuck,” Jonny says, cheeks on fire. His head tips back as Patrick’s lips close over his dick, sucking at the tip and then sliding down the length until he’s pushing at the back of Patrick’s throat. “That’s–you–yeah, yeah, god.”


	14. Headcanon: Supernatural AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _orphismo asked: Kane / Toews, supernatural (not the show) AU? :)_
> 
> This was also thanks to monalisasnmadhatters talking about Jonny’s beautiful, beautiful hands.

1\. Jonny’s a touch sensitive empath with a bit of a gift for healing (well maybe, at least pain relief, he’s not done enough experimenting to be sure how far he can push it). It’s something he grew up with, though he didn’t have words for it until his parents sent him to Shattuck. Sensitivites are accepted as existing but they’re sort of like having a perfect memory—rare and strange and half-myth and poorly understood by science. 

2\. Shattuck has a killer hockey program but it also has a killer program for “sensitive” kids. It’s not advertised because parents are pretty wary about putting that info out in public about their kids. Adults can choose to disclose but it can affect your life pretty strongly when everyone thinks you can read their mind at twenty paces in the coffee shop (hah, as if, that would have made Jonny’s life easier) so kids don’t get a lot of services or support unless they’re born into a family gift.

3\. They try to teach Jonny at Shattuck to keep his hands to himself, but the thing is, Jonny likes feeling what other people are feeling. Even if it isn’t always pretty, he finds the hum of somebody else’s feelings comforting, soothing—a point outside his own head that lets him take a deep breath and deal better with his own shit. Mr. Parise (now there’s a family with a gift, for hockey and telepathy) says it’s invasive, but Jonny figures he doesn’t actually get a lot more than what somebody’s facial and body language tells him. Sometimes it’s just as hard to figure out, anyway—everyone feels differently.

4\. So he’s a touchy guy. He keeps track of what’s going on with his friends, his family, his teammates. At Shattuck everybody knows, even those in the regular, non-sensitive stream, but back in Winnipeg in the summer he doesn’t stop. He gets the best read if he can touch somebody’s pulse—fingers around a wrist, thumb on a neck. The first time he has sex and puts his lips on a girl’s breast and feels her heart pounding underneath, he gets such a strong pulse of her arousal he comes in his pants. Which is embarrassing, but considering what it’s like fingering her after, everything hot and swollen and intimate, it was probably inevitable. 

5\. At UND he doesn’t disclose for ages. It’s not required, and Jonny’s been taught to keep it on the down-low, but he regrets the hell out of it when he ends up telling some of the guys, drunk and stupid at a party, in his sophomore year after the Christmas break. Two of them freak right out, that he’d been ‘reading their fucking minds’ for ages without telling them, and that sets most of the rest of the team on edge. 

It’s an awkward couple weeks before he stands up in the room and apologizes, and shit doesn’t really go back to normal for the rest of the year. Jonny makes a point of not touching anybody except over their pads as a show of good faith, and it’s wearying, isolating in a way he’s never experienced. The concussions probably don’t help, and after a touchless month TJ finds him curled up on his bed, shaking with tears.

“Aw, bro,” TJ says, crawling up on the bed. “You shoulda said something.”

Jonny pulls himself up and leans away, tucking himself against the wall so TJ’s got room to sit without having to touch him. “Said what?” Jonny says hoarsely. “Everybody’s pissed.”

“Nah,” TJ says. “I mean, some of the guys were, but it’s just—you’ve know it’s weird, right? That you were like, knowing what we felt all the time.”

“Only when I was touching you,” Jonny says, pressing at his eyes with the balls of his thumbs. “Not all the time.”

“Dude,” TJ says, with a snort. “You’re like, the touchiest hockey player I know, and I’ve met me.”

“Not anymore,” Jonny says morosely. He could be picking up, getting his contact in that way, but after what’s happened with the Sioux he’s terrified of betraying anybody’s trust.  

“Is it that bad?” TJ asks, curious. 

Jonny shrugs, tucking his hands into his armpits, shoulders hunched in. “I dunno, it’s like being really hungry all the time. Just—gnawing away at your gut.”

“Gross,” TJ says, wrinkling up his nose. “Why don’t you ask?”

“What?” Jonny says blankly.

TJ cocks his head at him, hair flopping in his eyes. “You could ask? Like, say, ‘oh hey Teej, I need to get my touch on, you feeling up to it?’”

Jonny blinks at him a few times.

“And if I’m feeling like not having you rooting around in my head, I say no, but if I’m chill or high or whatever, I’ll probably say yes.”

“Uh—”

TJ rolls his eyes at him. “You spend so long reading other people through their skin you forget how to actually ask them shit, eh?”

“Fuck you,” Jonny says, but he’s smiling. “Can I—if you—”

TJ’s already got his arms open, and fuck, he gives a great hug. He doesn’t even complain when Jonny presses his runny nose and damp cheeks into the curve of his neck, soaking up every bit of amused-exasperated-fond-low-level-horny (because it’s TJ and Jonny knows that’s his default state) he can find. 

6\. So he learns his lesson. When he shows up for the Blackhawks rookie camp, first thing he does at the getting-to-know-you lunch is stand up and say he’s a sensitive. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he explains carefully. “And I don’t know anything at all unless I’m touching skin. Even if I do, I don’t know why you feel something, either. So you don’t need to avoid it, but I won’t, uh. Initiate contact, or whatever.” A couple of the guys look nervous, but nobody’s upset or anything. Nobody touches him, either, but maybe it’ll just take time. 

After a precious win, a couple months into the season, everybody crashes Seabs’ place for drinking-age-free booze, beer pong and foozball. Seabs has three separate tables, it’s a weird obsession of his. Jonny starts out high as a kite but after four drinks he starts getting anxious. He’s not super touch-deprived, since his parents and brother were in town for the game, and there’s nobody quite as soothing as them, but the riotous room feels sufforcatingly quiet and he keeps having to tuck himself into corners to avoid accidental contact. The drunker he gets, the more he worries he’s gonna forget and fuck up.

He retreats all the way to his bedroom, collapsing on his bed with a rush of exhaustion. Patrick must have followed him, though, because he’s barely shut his eyes before the door opens and closes behind him again.

“Long day, eh?” Patrick says, dropping down onto the bed beside Jonny. 

“Mm,” Jonny hums, pulling his hand in so it’s resting on his thigh, instead of resting dangerously between them. “I dunno how everyone goes out after games.”

“Adrenaline, I guess,” Patrick says, voice cracking on a yawn. “We’ll adjust.”

They lie there quietly for long enough that Jonny thinks Patrick’s fallen asleep. Jonny’s halfway there but the buzzing itch to reach out and run his fingers along Patrick’s arm is keeping him awake. It’s half the usual low-level desire to reach out and touch, and half Patrick himself, so bright and confident and open that Jonny sometimes thinks he knows what he’s feeling without touching.

“You can, if you want.”

Jonny starts, looking over at Patrick. Patrick’s got his head turned on the other pillow, blinking sleepily across the gap. “What?”

“You can touch me.”

Jonny blushes, because yeah, he wants to be able to touch his teammates, to really feel close to them–but with Patrick, he’s been slowly sorting out that he wants to hear him say that and mean _other_  things, too. “How did you—”

“Dude,” Patrick says with a snort. “You’re practically tearing a hole in your pants.”

Jonny flattens his hands back on his thighs, smoothing out the fabric. “Sorry. It’s just…hard. Being around people but not—”

“Like keeping your eyes shut all the time?”

Jonny blinks. “How did you—”

Patrick bites down on his lip, looking back up at the ceiling. 

“You’re sensitive,” Jonny says. “But—”

“Not to people,” Patrick says quickly, still not watching. “I’ve got—foresight.”

“Foresight,” Jonny echoes dumbly. There weren’t even any kids like that at Shattuck. Seeing the future is too—everyone wants a piece of you. Nobody discloses that, and most people think it wasn’t even real. “What kind?”

“Local short-duration high-accuracy visual and kinetic precognition,” Patrick reels off. He sits up, and Jonny follows, turning until they’re crosslegged and facing each other, heads bowed in.  “You can’t tell anyone.” 

“Yeah I—I won’t,” Jonny says, still reeling. “But why are you telling me?”

Patrick twists his hands on his kneecap, lip bloodless white.

_Local_  and  _high-accuracy_  and  _kinetic_. “You see games,” Jonny says, sitting upright. “You see—during the game? What you’re going to do?”

“Yeah, but–I don’t cheat,” Patrick says, low and careful. “I block it, I swear. As soon as I learned how, I’m not—I don’t cheat.”

Then his hands are on Jonny’s, wrapping around and holding on tight, clammy skin and frantic beating pulse and Jonny gets a fierce rush of desperation-sincerity-hope. He stares down at Patrick’s hands, incongruously wide and strong around his own, the contrast of Patrick’s pale skin and Jonny’s well-earned tan stark. 

“I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” Patrick says quietly. “My baby sisters don’t even know. My parents made me swear, because nobody would believe that I don’t cheat.”

“I don’t have to,” Jonny says slowly, twisting his wrists until he’s got Patrick’s hands tight between his own, thumbs rubbing across the thin skin of his wrists, feeling Patrick’s anxious-sick-earnestness. “I don’t have to believe, cause I know.”

There’s a flicker, then. It’s the strangest thing Jonny’s ever felt—it’s like Patrick vanishes from his own skin, for just long enough to feel. If it weren’t for the shocking rush of feeling that bubbles up right after, Jonny would still be reeling from the achingly wrong sensation of emptiness. 

“Are you,” Jonny starts, skin flushing up at the leap and dart of Patrick’s emotions. “Was that it?”

“Shit, Jonny,” Patrick says, pushing up on his knees, hands leaving Jonny’s and finding his shoulders. Jonny reaches up automatically, curling his hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, thumbing at his jugular and feeling overwhelmed with the messy flood of arousal-desire-relief-joy, so in sync with Jonny’s own that he can hardly tell them apart. “You could have told me how you feel.”


	15. Snippet: Wedding Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _twoearsandaheart asked: single scene prompt, maybe? k/t, weddings. bc 'tis the seasons of JESUS H. ANOTHER ONE. good luck getting the juices flowing!_
> 
> It is the season! My sister’s getting married at the end of August, but she’s actually the only one I’ve got right now.
> 
> Anyway, when I am stuck for writing I write depressing things, so here is a not very happy wedding season snippet for you.

The bed’s too soft. There’s a mattress cover on it, so it’s probably firm enough underneath, but Jon hates the feeling of sinking into a bed. He gets overheated, especially in hotel rooms with shitty airflow.

There’s a balcony and a screened door and a view of the ocean, at least. He’ll open up the glass door. It was a warm day, but by the time he caught a cab to leave the dwindling reception, the temperature had dropped enough that he’d put his suit jacket back on. He sits up to shrug out of it. He rescues his tie and keys from one pocket and his phone from the other, tossing everything but the phone onto the second bed. When he falls back into the too-soft bed he holds his phone over his head, blinking at the brightness of the screen.

He calls Patrick.

There isn’t an answer, which isn’t surprising. It’s three hours later in Buffalo, and it’s after two here.

He calls him again anyway.

“The fuck, Jon,” Patrick says, finally. It’s muffled, gravelly.

Jon shuts his eyes and exhales, air a staticky hiss over the line. “Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

Jon laughs. He reaches up with his free hand to start working on the buttons of his shirt. “Nah. You should mute your phone if you don’t want to be woken up.”

“It is muted,” Patrick says. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You were awake?” Jon says, curious.

There’s a pause. Jon thinks he can hear the shifting of sheets. He definitely hears the low murmur of voices, then the click of a door shutting.

“Pat?” he says. He’s undone all the buttons on his shirt. He scratches his belly, presses his thumb into his belly-button. He’s drunk too much to be feeling nervous for no reason.

“Company. Sorry,” Pat says.

Jon lets out a slow breath. “You’re not,” he echoes.

Pat laughs. It’s not pretty. “Well, not to you.”

Jon’s scalp prickles. “Thanks,” he mutters. “Why were you awake?”

“I wasn’t,” Pat says, slow and reluctant. “I have you—some calls come through when the rest is muted. My family.”

“And me,” Jon says stickily.

“And our agent, so,” Pat says, voice going lighter. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

“Sure is.”

Another pause. Jon’s fingers drift to his belt buckle. It’s new leather, stiff and shiny and tricky to work open with one hand. It distracts him, tired and drunk, for long enough that Pat makes a ticked-off sound into the phone.

“It’s wedding season,” Jon says, forestalling Pat’s complaints, or mockery, or—anything that wasn’t—

“Yup,” Pat says. “I’ve got two next weekend. Friday and Saturday.” It’s light, conversational, but there’s a steeliness underneath. Pat’s not got the patience for Jon right now. Jon’s got good at telling that, at least.

“I’m coming to Max’s,” Jon says.

“Oh yeah?” Pat says. He sounds disinterested. It’s a lie; if he were, he wouldn’t have taken the call.

“Moved some stuff around for him,” Jon says. For—Max. “Are you taking—”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t,” Jon says. He’s got his belt free. The tongue slaps over the buckle.

“Jon—”

“Please,” Jon says, hollowed out. “Give me—I just want—”

“A chance?” Pat fills in, winding tight. “You—Jesus, Jon. You can’t—how many can I give you?”

“One more,” Jon says, skin prickling. It’s too hot, the mattress is too soft. He rolls off the bed and heads for the porch, fingers fumbling with the latch.

“And when you change your mind?” Pat says.

“I won’t.”

“Why the fuck should I believe you?” Pat says, soft and hard all at once.

It’s a stick to the throat, making Jon choke for air. He slides open the doors and trips out onto the balcony. He sucks in a breath, cool and ocean-fresh, opening up his chest. His sweat-damp skin goosepimples up fast.

“Because you want to,” Jon says.

It’s just Jon on the line, after that.

There’s a text when he wakes up the next morning, anyway. Another room number in another hotel on another ocean.

Another chance.


End file.
